The Worst of Both Worlds
by Bumbledbee
Summary: Hugo Weasley suffers from what some might call a perpetual bad hair day. Inheriting the unsightly shade of orange from the Weasley family, and the uncontrollable frizz from the Granger family, Hugo fights a never ending battle with his hair. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel for Hugo?


Hugo Weasley suffered from what some might call a perpetual bad hair day.

You see, he had inherited the unfortunate combination of the unsightly shade of orange from the Weasley family, and the uncontrollable frizz from the Granger family.

The worst of both worlds, one might say.

This ill-fated gift from his parents resulted in a cloud of offensive orange fuzz which sat stubbornly upon his head.

There was no nice way of putting it. Hugo Weasley had a ginger afro.

In some ways, it was a case of 'so close, yet so far' which made it all the more painful. The fact was that Hugo was a fairly average guy. He was of an average height, slightly on the taller side if anything, he had average grades, he was pretty good at sports, and his face could even be described as attractive.

None of this mattered, however, as his horrendous hair cancelled out any normal characteristics, let alone attractive ones.

To make matters worse, many of his relatives had been blessed with follicles that even people with normal hair envied. James and Albus, for example, had inherited the unruly Potter hair which they not only somehow made work for them, but which girls seemed to love! It nauseated Hugo.

Then there was the silky flaxen hair of Victoire. He had overheard countless girls speculating about what products she used to achieve the glossy finish, and how she maintained the ever silvery shade. The sad thing was, Victoire was probably all au naturel.

Even Rose's hair was nice! Hugo couldn't even comprehend how that worked, or how that was fair for that matter. Somehow, her hair had turned out to be more auburn than bright orange, and more wavy than frizzy.

WHY? Was a question Hugo often found himself asking. Why him? And what had he done to deserve such a horrible fate?

Throughout his short life, Hugo had tried many a thing to reign in his fro. His mother had tried hair potions, his sister had tried spells, aunties had tried hair dyes, and cousins had tried muggle tools. Some had worked, some had not. All were only temporary, and none of them had been maintainable.

Hugo found it bitterly ironic that the people who had saved the Wizarding World from the most evil wizard of all time, couldn't even save himself from his own hair.

At one particularly low point in his life, Hugo had resorted to shaving his head. This failed, however, as his hair grew back with a vengeance that rivalled that of a teenage girl who had just fallen out with her best friend.

To put it simply, Hugo Weasley's hair assaulted the eyes like a Mandrake's scream assaulted the ears, it burned the pupils like a Hungarian Horntail's fire burns the skin, and left a bad taste in ones mouth, like a Cockroach Cluster on ones tongue. Once seen, it could not be unseen.

Some people dreaded the thought of growing old and losing hair.

Hugo didn't.

In fact, sometimes he thought he even looked forward to it. He could scarcely imagine that his abhorrent hair might one day be gone, forever! Although, knowing his luck, he would probably be 'blessed' with great genes and still be rocking the ol' ginger fro at 80.

Nevertheless, Hugo had come to accept his hair. He was resigned to the fact that he was never going to be able to toss his hair, or even wear a swanky hat, so he tried to focus on the positives. Like the fact that the nickname 'Hufro' had been left behind in the dark days of second year, and that people occasionally thought he was just super cool and individual and didn't care what other people thought.

Today, however, had been a particularly harrowing day for Hugo. His potion had exploded just as he had been about to finish it, there had been no chocolate pudding at dinner, and he was pretty sure the people sitting behind him in Charms had been chucking stuff in his hair. To think he had thought people had grown out of doing that after third year! As he reached his dorm, Hugo tipped his head upside down and ran his hands slowly through his hair, careful not to get his fingers caught in any knots (he had once tried to run his hand suavely through his hair like James and had almost pulled out a chunk of hair). It was only after copious amounts of finger combing and rather undignified head shaking that a single slip of paper fell out.

He was about to chuck it in the bin when a smudge of ink caught his eye. Not to mention the piece of paper was the exact same shade as his hair and folded neatly into a square. Intrigued, he unfolded it to reveal the unmistakable handwriting of a girl.

_You're cute. _

Hugo's eyes widened as he read the words. Surely not! He thought. This couldn't be for him, could it? But why would anyone chuck a piece of paper into his hair otherwise? And a piece of paper that matched the colour of his hair, no less! As his mind raced to validate the uncontainable grin on his face, a glimmer of hope flickered inside Hugo.

He was cute! Somebody thought he was cute! Granted, 'cute' wasn't exactly the adjective every manly man like Hugo dreamed of being called, but he would take it.

Perhaps his hair wasn't such a bad thing after all!

Also, he could sleep without a pillow.


End file.
